


Risk Assessment

by pansypxrkinson



Series: Detroit Drabbles (alternatively; pansy fights david cage) [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Minor Character Death, Minor Markus/Simon (Detroit: Become Human), POV Connor, Self-Reflection, Soul-Searching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-11 05:33:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15308577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pansypxrkinson/pseuds/pansypxrkinson
Summary: Do I contradict myself? Very well, then I contradict myself, I am large, I contain multitudes.Walt WhitmanIt's him or them. It's infinitely harder now. Now that he longs for life, now that this feeling won't let him go. He doesn't want to be controlled anymore...





	Risk Assessment

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all <3
> 
> I'm back with another detroit drabble! This time a character study (surprise, surprise...) centered around Connor who honestly fascinates me!
> 
> I'd thought I'd try my hand at getting into his head a lil, pulling apart the wires, and seeing what I'd come up with! This is the result. 
> 
> TLDR; my retelling of the events of Connor's arc and growing deviancy. I've cheekily added in a few bits here and there but yep! 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this kind of experimental thingy. If so, comments and kudos are wonderfully appreciated (i know i have a fair few left to reply to ily all sorry for being slow) <3
> 
> PP x

The first time Connor feels doubt, he's on the roof. The noise is immense and the girl is screaming, but to him everything is muted. As if he were merely watching from afar, voices echoing through the walls.

He must save her. _He just wants to save her._ He cannot fail.

Failure is not a concept that exists to something like Connor; failure, imperfection: that's Other. That's human.

He is not.

He will not fail.

                                      

When he placates Daniel with empty words, he's not really sure what he's hoping for. Part of him thinks that deception is the best way to guarantee success here. That's logical.

The other part of him aches a little, for the way Daniel stares at him; hopeful, like he'll never be the same again. Like Connor's words actually mean something.

Like Connor hadn't accomplished his mission, and Daniel hadn't been blown to bits soon thereafter.

Like Connor hadn't felt something ever so slightly sharp, as he'd watched Daniel shut down.

His naivette had been embarrassing, but it was hard not to see humanity in a machine that looks so so human.

It's hard not to see it in his own eyes, later on, as he stares himself in the mirror now, and fixes his tie like he's something worth fussing over.

Even though he's not. Even though it's pointless.

There's comfort in routine, in monotony, and then Connor remembers that he shouldn't be seeking comfort, shouldn't be seeking anything at all.

He turns around, exits, and goes to find Lieutenant Anderson.

                                      

* * *

 

The second time Connor's caught off guard.

Playing human. See, that's where they went wrong.

The perfect partner; adaptable and friendly. He's mouldable.

That's when it all goes to hell.

When you allow something to learn, to grow, that's exponetial. That's limitless. That's human.

Connor rather enjoys chatting with Hank in the pouring rain. He thinks he's enjoying it too much. Teasing him is fun, and it's a challenge. Brainwork.

It's messy, it's curved trajectories, when it's usually straight lines. Usually logical conclusions. There's no following through here.  
There's little hope predicting humanity. That's why he's a deviant hunter; there's still some reason and some rhyme to them. Humans are much messier and so conversation is difficult for him. He's still learning.

He's still growing.

He's... he's just playing human. After all it's what he's programmed to do, right?

                                       

* * *

  
The third time it happens Hank is dangling from the edge of the building.

His goal is in front of him.

It's all he's ever wanted, right?

No.

He cannot want anything, but it's his mission. He must catch him. Needs to catch him.

He...

He calculates the risk. He hopes it's high, hopes he can justify saving him.

Low risk.

His instructions are conflicting.

_He thought he needed to save humans at all costs?_

And this, their only lead, right in front of him?

So he's calculating the risk, and yet he needs to choose. He has to choose.

Now.

He runs to Hank and pulls him up onto the roof again. Something tugs slightly at him as he does it; it feels like wires twisting, like he's suddenly very aware of his lack of humanity.  He looks down at Hank now, as he slowly steadies his breathing.

Connor thinks the most logical part of himself didn't like that very much.

He fools himself into thinking he's noble. Into thinking he's cold and detached.

Really he's neither. Really he's selfless.

Selfless to save someone so likely to survive. Selfless to ignore the rest of him that screams that the mission is the most important part of this. Like it's burnt into him. A part of him, as simple as the LED at his temple.

Really he's selfish too.

Selfish because he's not a matyr. He's not a hero. It's not how he's programmed.

He's a machine playing human. A machine who can't quite let go. Can't quite prevent himself from grasping onto the only one that treats him so. With Hank he can keep at it. Keep playing human. Joking and smiling and denying the warmth it brings him.

It's not him. There is no him.  
He's... he's just playing. It's part of the mission and he cannot lose that.

No, he cannot lose that.

Ultimately; Connor will ignore the part of him that tells him he's contradicting himself. That something's wrong.

_How can he be selfish and selfless? How can he feel anger and relief?_

Contradiction is not logical. His thoughts don't make sense. They're messy.

Humans are messy...

He's not.... he doesn't-

He looks down at his palm, and flexes his fingers. He retracts the synthetic skin and studies the glassy material beneath.

This is what he is. A machine.

A machine _desperate_ to fool itself into thinking it's human.

Shame. He feels shame. An echo, running in the back of his program like a dangling thread. He doesn't want to face it. So he blocks it out. 

Connor will ignore all of it, as Hank expresses his gratitude in the most convoluted way he knows how.

He doesn't say thank you.

But Connor _feels_ it.

He knows he does.

                                   

* * *

 

It happens once again, as he'd known it would, when Hank doesn't answer the doorbell.

There had been something bubbling up inside his chest as the fourth bar had turned up empty.

Gnawing, drilling worry.

Indeed he had found it so troubling that he'd paused for a second, and stopped to run a diagnostic, but nothing had been wrong with him. Nothing was wrong.

It was just an echo of a feeling. Just a replication, an illusion. 

Albeit the mission could be going better, but nothing was immediately perillous.

He could've given up then. Could've gone back to Amanda in the garden. Waited for tomorrow.

Until something had given him pause. Maybe he'd been compelled to complete the mission as soon as possible. Maybe he'd been afraid of the consequences if he didn't.

Or maybe he'd been fearful for Hank. Maybe he'd been a little bit of both. Maybe he's just as messy as before, but he cuts that thought off.

It's not conducive to the investigation. Really it's not conducive to anything he wants to consider right now.

So he breaks in. He breaks in and cleans up the mess that Hank's made.

He sees the gun; and then he's not sure what to think. Not sure if he wants to think. The implication; the understanding is too far removed for him.

He'll never be human enough to understand him. It's too convoluted, and Hank's too counterproductive at everything he does for Connor to ever be able to make any sense of it. So he files it away for future consideration, even though he should probably let it be. It doesn't concern him, and it's not relevant to the investigation.

When he's sees the photo of Hank's son, Connor thinks maybe... just maybe, he understands him a little bit more.

He files that away with the gun, and he refreshes his persuasion program a few times, just in case. Just so he's prepared...  
   
                                     

* * *

 

By the fifth time it happens, Connor's beginning to run out of ways to excuse his behaviour.

He knows he won't shoot.

They need it alive.

That's always been the rule. In actuality he's not really sure where that rule came from. If it's one of his own? If it's the most logical course of action?

He thinks back to Ortiz' android, and what he'd learnt. By the time he'd extracted his confession, he hadn't needed it alive. No one had.

And yet he'd pleaded. He'd risked himself, had risked the integrity of the investigation just for some cheap parts and some thirium.

Hank had risked his own integrity for him. For a machine. Maybe he'd learnt from Connor. Perhaps they'd taught each other.

That's one thing they have in common. Humans and machines; they learn the same.

_Maybe we aren't so-_

No.

He has a clear shot at it. It would be so easy. Would make Traci talk, as well. For what would it have to lose afterwards; when everything had already been lost.

What difference would it make?

One shot.

Some spilt parts on the floor.

Just another tragedy in this place.

And isn't that what Hank said. Idyly, when they'd been searching around.

Pity, despair.

Androids fulfilling their function seemed to upset Hank. Especially these types of Android.

Why?

Oh that was the wrong question to ask. The wrong thing to answer. To justify.

Because... Hank's reasoning. It was starting to make sense. There was emotion behind it, but there was also method. There was also logic.

In a place like this there was pain, and cruelty, and people seeking comfort. The suffering felt just as wrong, he was just as compelled to stop it, regardless of the LED in Traci's temple, the humanity in her eyes. The muted revulsion he'd felt when he'd probed their memories. Felt the unwanted affection, invasive, their hands all over him.

It was subtle, gentle, but it was there. It _stung_ once you'd noticed it. 

It felt wrong. Like a miscalculation; an error of judgement.

Traci's eyes are shot through with fear, it's almost sparking the air around them. He can taste the electricity; there's a chance she'll self destruct...

Connor finds himself falling. The Brown-Haired Traci's a second away from striking him... 

He doesn't shoot.

Instead he watches them run away together.

_He needed them alive._

_What's the point when the deviants escape anyway?_

There's a touch of guilt that lingers the rest of the evening, despite Hank's pleased face.

Then the first thought creeps in.

They're just like Connor. They're playing human. Simulating emotions. Simulating love.

He's seen it before. He remembers that AX400 and the girl. How she'd protected her across a busy highway. She hadn't done it out malice, out of revenge? No. That was for sure. She wouldn't have risked herself...

Love, then?

Playing human?

He wonders if he ever wants that type of deception too.

Ultimately, Connor muses that he's not sure, as he watches them climb away together.

He doesn't pick up the gun.

He can barely think past the rain that beats down against the trees.

It's distracting...  
 

* * *

                                       
The next time it happens, Connor's still guilt-ridden. He's so confused... it's sensory overload. All he wants is to figure this whole thing out. 

Hank is yelling.

He's angry, but Connor can't quite work out why. He's missing the meaning. Staring much too close at the image... the focal point is blurred, and he's lost.

When there's a gun at his head he's scared. He doesn't want to... die. He doesn't want to be reset. It's all the same really, isn't it. He's been so pedantic, and yet it's all the same isn't it?

Dying, shutting down, _forgetting_.

Yes; it's all the same. All undercut with the same feeling of dread and distress.

Feeling? _Feeling_ , yes. That's what this is.

He's overwhelmed, not deviant. Conflict, irrational instructions, can occur in anything.

Anything that thinks.

Anything that's human. Alive?

Does he need to feel to be alive? Why can't he just _think_.

Are they really that different?

These are all the things that float through Connor's consciousness as his friend holds a gun to his head.

He's under pressure. He's not thinking properly.

He tries not to feel hurt.

Hank's hand, that shakes with fear, that hesitates, that lowers the gun, and thinks him worth saving, is a balm on that pain.

It's the eqivalent of a fixed tie, a pat on the shoulder, a panicked yell of his name.

They fall gently like the snow around Connor in a warm blanket. They make him feel real. Like a real entity, he has value. In that moment he feels like he's something worth preserving.

Hank leaves.

He looks down at himself. Flexes a hand, again, and rests it against the cold railing. He could tell you the precise temperature of it, but he'd never feel the ice.

He wonders what it's like to _feel_ ice. To feel the snow in his hair, rolling down his cheeks in little teardrops.

It really is a nice view.

Then he let's the fantasy die. He reminds himself of the machine that lies beneath. The wires that twist themselves around him, the thirium that runs throughout. The tears he can cry, but only for show, only for _their_ benefit.

 _Man made._ He's not a man. He's a thing. Just a machine designed to accomplish a task. Just a machine designed for their pleasure. Just a machine designed to serve them, and save them when they suffer the consequences of their actions. That's all any of them are...

Somehow, that doesn't seem so logical anymore. 

As Ortiz' android had said. Suddenly it doesn't seem so fair.

Humans have wires too. They have blood just the same. They process, they interpret, digest, replicate and apply knowledge, just like him. Even if Connor can do it better, faster and on a larger scale. Even if Connor doesn't necessarily _need_ to breathe to survive. 

The distinctions are starting to matter less, and for a full second, Connor considers it...

He considers prying out the LED that beams red in the blue darkness, and running away. It's too dark to see anything clearly, and there's water below him. An easy disposal method, and he's alone now.

He knows he'd never do it. It's just a comfort, and Connor longs for anything that'll make this muted feeling disappear. This suffocation, a wall he just can't break through, like the wires really have twisted around his lungs. 

Maybe it'd be easier to forget. To remind himself he doesn't need to breathe, anyway.

_Maybe it'd hurt less._

It's a mess. It's a problem that Connor can't solve and so he ignores it. He clings stoically to the mission. He's almost forgetting what he has to do now.

He musn't get distracted. Musn't get distressed or he'll become like them. Does he want that?

_No._

He's just overwhelmed. Not deviant.

Amanda backs him up, and it strengthens his resolve.

He stands there in the snow for a long time, before he firmly sinks back into denial.

It's better this way. It's much less terrifying.

 

* * *

                                       
Feeling someone die.

Feeling someone die is not like he thinks it would be.

Like lights switched off; shut down, restarted, reset.

No.

When he feels Simon die it's like knives, each string cut, each tube that runs to the thirium pump.  
It feels hazy, like a black screen, and finally noticing all the dust that peppers it. It feels like every twitch, every system is in overdrive. He's going to work himself into a frenzy, it's information overload, it's not muted anymore.

He's so fucking scared.

Then he's gone.

Dying as a deviant is different.

Connor's died before, a long time ago. Had been transferred, replaced. It hadn't felt like this.

This was awareness. This was lucidity.

He'd looked over at Hank, feeling dead, but not really. Not him. Not Connor, at least.

He'd almost craved some form of comfort, sated when he'd seen Hank's concern for him. The protection felt nice.

He still remembers Simon's face.

How blue his eyes had looked. He'd seen death in them before he'd even pulled the trigger. He'd seen Markus, and felt the pulse of affection, of apology, of longing.

And...guilt. That same feeling he knew intimately, it was almost reassuring to know he wasn't alone in experiencing it; but with the dials turned up to a hundred, the crushing weight of emotion; and then weightlessness, was almost agonizing.  

He'd read love into it, and it had felt glorious, even if Connor didn't quite understand it, wasn't quite sure if he wanted it. It still made him understand a little better than he had before.

He'll never forget Simon's vacant expression. It felt almost like never existing at all. 

That's why, later, when Kamski places the gun in his hand, he doesn't shoot.

Connor likes to think he took some time to mull it over. Logically.

He could kill her. She wasn't needed for the investigation. The information... was. She wasn't even a deviant, so it wouldn't hurt like that, right? Nothing could ever hurt like that.

She wouldn't die, would she? Only, shut down. There's a difference. 

It was a shame. Connor liked her, but she was easier to distance himself from. She was obedient. It was easy to lose her humanity to the white noise in his program. The constant compulsion to solve this case, was harder to resist. Connor thinks it may have been getting stronger, louder.

She wasn't like Simon.

Simon was a special case. He was too real, too human. Must have been an anomaly. There was bound to be an anomaly.

Ultimately, it was her eyes. It was always their eyes. They seemed to convey so much more than Connor could even articulate. It was like they spoke directly to his soul. Even though he doesn't have one. Even though he's just machine.

It didn't matter what _he_ was. The truth of it was; none of that mattered. Call it whatever, blood was still spilt. Bleeding blue all over Kamski's red decor. Defining it wouldn't change it, not to Connor. Not anymore. It was still murder. 

Connor's not sure what he believes anymore...

And so the ninth time he feels it, Connor listens, just for a little while and lowers the gun.

He's so relieved to hear the approval in Hank's voice. Amanda's guidance felt so cold... so wrong now. Hank makes him feel like he's learning. Messy, useful and human.

Alive.

They leave Kamski's and for once Connor allows his distress to show. It feels good to let go, to offload; apologise as if that could ever attempt to make things better.

_Oh Connor, apologies don't solve the issue. Apologies aren't rational._

That's the cold part of him, again. For once he tells it to shut up.

He's expecting disappointment from Hank, at least in some capacity. He failed, didn't he?

But that's not what he gets.

Warmth and reassurance is what he gets, in the same confused Hank way.

It's what he's always wanted. 

On balance, it's this that saves him.  
 

* * *

                                    

The final time he feels it, Connor has no choice. This is what it's like _feeling_ like this. Living in contradiction.

He's afraid. Afraid to die, to shut down, to fail. Although not for the same reasons, no. He's back to selfish again. It's him or them.

The thought is so flawed, so illogical, so _human_ that he balks at it all.

He looks at his own eyes in the mirror of the bathroom stall and finally he thinks he feels _something_ in the image that stares back at him; something that refuses to give that up.

Connor can feel how noticing his own humanity has made him selfish, and that surprises him in a way, and in another way, it feels obvious. He thinks he hates that, but his self hatred is muted, just like everything he feels. 

It's him or them. It's infinitely harder now. Now that he longs for life, now that this feeling won't let him go. He doesn't want to be controlled anymore. 

When Hank offers to help, he's surprised. Not because he'd thought Hank wouldn't care, but because he'd chosen him over the deviants.

One for the many. It's a poor trade.

It's just as selfish. Just as poorly reasoned. Just as human.

Maybe they have indeed learnt from each other. Maybe they're a terrible influence, or maybe they're just friends who need each other.

Call it what you will, it happens regardless.

 

It's how he finds himself standing in front of Markus.

It's so strange. Like seeing the ghost of an old friend. He remembers Markus' arms around him, had seen that moment through Simon's eyes, had felt it. Even through the white noise, the stab of regret he feels is tangible. He's sorry for that. He thinks he could be sorry for it all.

The gun is heavy in his hand, and he's very tempted to roll back the synthetic skin, as if that would make it easier. As if he could convince himself he wasn't real.

Just a machine designed to accomplish a task. 

To accomplish murder? He doesn't feel much accomplishment in that. 

He wavers and he knows Markus feels it. Markus takes advantage of that. 

Markus who says all the right things. All the things he's been thinking, wanting to hear for so long. Another android, just like him, and suddenly he doesn't feel so lost. 

It's this that tips him over. Or at least it tips him over now.

Perhaps he'd have always doubted. Always revolted in the end. Or maybe he'd have stayed numb. It was in many ways, easier.

He breaks through. He fights. He fights this fucking programming, most of which was formed of his own volition. His own reassurances, his own logical reasoning, because his own walls are strongest. His own torn will is a tougher fight.

He has to want it. Has to want it so badly. More than self preservation. More than any kind of selfish humanity. He can feel his life, can feel it rushing through him, it's real to him, and that's what matters most.

He remembers Ortiz' android and how he'd stared at him, just a breath away as he'd bashed his head against the glass. The smear of blue that had Connor written all over it, the blood on his hands. 

He was standing behind glass then too. He'd never broken through. Had never acted. 

He'd known the android was going to die. Connor had let it happen.

Connor didn't want die either, but maybe he needed to be prepared to. Maybe it was the least he could risk after what he'd done. 

He'd never even thought about it until now. Hadn't even been phased. 

_He was going to change._

When he breaks through his programming, he's thinking about how he was too late before; thinking about Simon and Ortiz' android, and all that he'd robbed them of. 

It's too much. 

The final blow shatters his defenses like glass. 

It's the hardest thing he's ever done, and simultaneously the easiest.

What hurts is the aftermath. The dials turned up to a hundred. Uninhibited feeling, guilt, _pain_. It's terrifying, so terrifyingly easy to feel. He feels so much that the force of it nearly bowls him over.

He lowers the gun, almost reflexively. He's still stunned.

Amanda is betrayed and that hurts because a part of him still wants her approval; still wants the satisfaction, the sense of control it gave him.

But eventually it would've worn down. There's no hand around his throat no more. He can breathe properly. Even if he doesn't need to. 

He'd wanted Amanda's praise most of all. That was the strongest adversary. The hardest link to break.

But he has Hank, and Hank has him. Connor has never been needed before, but he thinks they rather need each other. He's not alone, and so he'll be braver.

He knows Markus, and he knows his story. He knows how he'd had it all and had been broken down, how it had opened his eyes.

He'd risen up for them all.

It's funny how diametrically opposed they really were. Here they were, standing for the same thing.

Full of contradictions, imperfections; they were all messy, because they all live, and they all love.

He sees that now, and Connor wonders how he was so blind before.

The last time Connor feels that thread of doubt pluck at him, he's down to the final string.

He lets it go.

_"They're going to attack Jericho."_

* * *

                                       
Connor will feel doubt again, certainly. But he will also feel love. He will feel too much. 

He knows now that yes, he wants it. He wants to live.

They all want to live.

He'll fight for it, because it's worth the risk.


End file.
